Blood Runs Thick
by Flairvoyant
Summary: Two Career Tributes from District 4, a brother and a sister pitted against each other due to a harsh turn of fate. Will the siblings manage to cope in such circumstances? A dark look at the horrendous potential of the Capitol's whimsical Games.


A/N: Hi, guys! This is my first fanfiction in quite a while so it would be interesting to see what you guys think of it. I have an idea as to how the story will go so, if you're interested in reading the rest, tell me and I'll write more!

I stood with my shoulders back, my spine as stiff as a board as the man on stage carried out his speech, the speech he made every year, the speech I had learned off by heart by my second Games. I bit my lip to prevent myself from mouthing along. The reaping in District 4 was a complex affair, one with algorithms and rounds which lasted several hours. I was sure that some people found it fairly cumbersome but to me it was gripping. I was seventeen, still awaiting my first chance to volunteer. My brother, Andrew, named after one of the fishermen in the Bible, had volunteered four times already with no success. He had come close a year ago but had been beaten out by an unfortunate game of chance. Now eighteen, this was his last shot at the glory for which he had been so vigorously trained, the only career path which was now available to him. I had seen what other career tributes ended up like if they had never managed to enter the games: lost and useless, drifting along with their lives without purpose or meaning, not to mention poverty stricken. No, it was far better to have your life's earnings saved by the time you were an adult, not to mention the glory which we both craved. I took deep breaths to calm myself and clenched my hands into fists by my side.

The man on speaking on stage, the Capitol representative, was called Harland Fitchwick. He wore a sparkling green coat with long, floating sleeves which fluttered when he moved his arms in unmistakably camp flourishes. Beyond this apparent effeminacy, however, his eyes were a pale blue, his pupils mere slits which revealed a relentless lust for victory in blood. Deep down, he was one of us. District 4's mentor was a siren by the name of Limia Stan, sauntering to her mark on stage, a hand casually placed on her hip. She had won eleven years ago, at the age of fourteen. Since then, she had mentored four victors and seven runner ups. She was a very good ally to have. One of the only problems she had with her teams was that the male and female tributes from her district had a habit of killing each other off once it got down to the final three or four. For the tributes, it was sensible, but for the district, Harland and Limia, it was a frustration.

"As usual, I'm afraid I must apologise to the ladies this year as we must carry out the reaping of the gentlemen first," Harland announced with a slightly pouted lip and a bow of his head. Typically, more boys volunteered than girls, perhaps spurred by some aggressive streak embedded in their genetics or maybe they just wanted to get out of here more. Andrew certainly did. Staying at home for so long had made him antsy, particularly since he had expected to enter the games by the time he was fifteen. Harland asked for volunteers and my brother along with about thirty other boys raised their hands. They were then asked to sign up at the desk which was manned by three peacekeepers and all the volunteers neatly lined up to do so. Andrew glanced up at me while he waited in line, his lips pressed nervously together. I smiled and gave him a nod. _This time. You'll get it this time, Andy._ Having waited so long and volunteered so consistently, the odds were on his side. With no previous offences, a governing system within the District who was fond of him and excellent grades, I would have guessed that he had a one in four shot of entering the Games. Once the names had been collected, the list was rushed off to carry out a series of complex equations and algorithms to determine his chances.

Then it was the girls' turn and I raised my hand.

Andrew hadn't noticed at first; he hadn't been expecting it. My brother and parents had already gone through this with me. I wasn't to volunteer until Andrew had finished. When he finally caught sight of my raised hand, his eyes widened and his brow furrowed in disbelief and concern. As I made my way to the line, I could tell he wanted to grab hold of me and pull me out but, due to the formation in which the potential tributes were formed, he had to stay where he was, his feet planted, paralysed by his situation. He kept giving me warning looks which I ignored. As soon as it was over and Harland had announced that the group would reconvene in the next hour, Andrew pushed through the dispersing kids and seized my hand, pulling me out of the way, next to an open air restaurant.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded, his gaze fixed on me, a look of astonishment and anger on his face. "What if we're both picked?"

I rolled my eyes, refusing to look up at him. Although I was very tall myself, nearing six foot tall, Andrew was considerably taller. Our bodies were built for swimming: long and lithe, full of muscle. "We won't both get picked, Andy. You know I have almost no chance of getting chosen. The odds are what? Three hundred to one?"

"There's _always_ a chance, Darcy. Besides, you can volunteer next year." It was the first time that Andrew had called me by my proper name since I was thirteen, when I had killed our cat. I was desperate to try out knife training and practiced in the back garden while my parents were out, tossing the knifes which I had stolen from Andrew at a tree. My aim was terrible, or spectacular depending on how you looked at it, and I socked our cat right between the eyes. Its name was Bluebell. Andrew found me curled up around the cat, covered in blood and crying. He picked me up, pried the corpse from my arms and cleaned me up. That was how we worked: I would have my heart set on something and would get carried away. Andrew would then pick up the pieces.

I screwed up my eyes and shook my head. "No, Andy. You _know _that Sairah will get it next year! She's best friends with the mayor for god's sake. I have no chance. At least now I can pretend as if I somewhat tried. You've had four cracks it, Andy. _Four._ And I'm supposed to get one? That's not fair. It's not my fault that you can't manage to get in. Hell, you probably won't get in this time either. At least _one_ of the family should give it a decent go."

Andrew clenched his jaw and stood silent for a moment before finally replying. "Go to up to Justice Building and tell them that you made a mistake and that you want to withdraw."

"You know I can't," I said, gazing at him defiantly. "You just have to live with it. It's very unlikely I won't get picked anyway." Despite himself, Andrew new that I couldn't turn back now. Volunteering was final and the shame associated with trying to do so would have been unbearable. He grit his teeth and hit the wall next to him forcefully with the palm of his hand.

"God's sake, Darce!" he muttered, clearly hating have to admit defeat. He couldn't protect me anymore. It was all down to chance now and it exhilarated me.

The moments up until the official drawing were tense. Andrew barely spoke to me and avoided eye contact. I think he may have been ashamed or scared, not wanting to think about the current situation. When we all finally reconvened and took our marks in front of the stage, my brother finally looked at me. He gave an apologetic smile and I returned it.

"Welcome back, people of District 4!" called Harland with an overly bright smile. "I hope that you've all been waiting in avid anticipation for our drawing of this year's tributes! All the names have been tallied, verified and added to the ball so, without further adieu..." His cat-like eyes lit up and he spoke in a low voice, "let's find out who's first!" He reached into the glass ball filled with names. I held my breath.

"Andrew Blake!" My brother and I broke out in to a grin. Andy had done it. He hit the air with his fist and separated himself from the rest of the group, walking up to the stage. He had finally done it. He was going to make us proud. When he was half way up the steps, I bounded towards him and flung my arms around his shoulders, given him a tight hug. Andrew's hands rubbed my back.

"You've done it, Andy," I whispered.

"And now for the female tribute..." Harland continued.

"I know, Darce," Andrew said, his voice so light and happy, still stunned that he was finally picked. "I can finally take part and win the Hunger Games."

"The female tribute is Darcy Blake!"


End file.
